The bathroom door slid open during her shower, and she turned and saw Raiden enter through the water that tracked down the glass of the shower screen.
“Can I join?” He asked, already removing his t-shirt.
Her breath caught in her chest as lust unfurled within her. “Yes, of course.”
He filled the shower, all broad shoulders, bronzed skin, and muscle. Her skin against his was pale as she put the palm of her hand against his chest, watching as the water beaded in his chest hair, running down his sternum, through the furrows of his stomach muscles, to where the hair thickened again at his groin.
“Raiden,” she said resisting the urge to taste the water that ran over him and see if it was sweetened by its contact with his skin. “We need to talk…”
He caught her mouth with his, his kiss flavored with whiskey. His skin against hers was an addiction, and she pressed back against him, the water spraying over them both. He was hard and unrestrained by clothing the evidence of his desire pushed against her shamelessly until she closed her hands around him, causing him to groan, his breathing labored.
They both watched her stroke him.
“I have been developing a theory,” he said softly lifting his eyes from her hands. “And it has something to do with the fairy in your solarium.”
She looked up at him, her hands stilling. “You have seen my fairy.”
“Yes. Both Brock and I have seen your fairy.” He replied. Ah, she thought, the secret werewolf business the two had been so guilty to have been caught discussing that morning, had not been werewolf business at all, but rather fairy business. “Can you guess my theory, Lia?” His voice was hoarse.
“I’m a witch.”
“Right,” his eyes held hers. “And what am I?”
“A werewolf,” she breathed it out.
He groaned and pushed her against the cold tiles, his hips pressing his hard on against her, his flesh heated with more than the water. “And what does that make you to me, Lia?” The golden-brown in his eyes was overridden by the flash of Other.
“Your mate.” Even as she said it, she was astonished by the honesty in the two small words. Yes, she thought, she was Raiden’s mate, and he was hers. When it all boiled down, it was that simple and straightforward. “Your mate,” she repeated it, because she liked the taste of the words on her tongue, the sense of belonging that came with them.
“Yes,” he lowered his mouth to hers and spoke with his lips against hers. “Mine. My mate.” She whimpered against his kiss. He reached out and shut off the water. “Lia…”
“Yes,” she sobbed it out. “Oh, god, yes, Raiden.”
His moan was guttural, as he dropped his forehead against hers. “Lia… I can wait until you are ready. I am not ruled by my beast.”
“I think,” she was beginning to shiver as the water cooled on her. “I think I have been waiting for you my entire life.”
He reached out of the shower and caught one of the towels off the shelf, wrapping it around her, before getting a second. “As I’ve been waiting for you,” he said darkly. “I knew the moment you ran past my house the first time that you were mine, Lia. It took me a while to trace you back to the house, and longer to work out a way to meet you.”
She reached up and framed his face with her hands, before lifting her lips to his. “Raiden…”
He scooped her up as effortlessly as if she were a child and carried her to the bedroom. “Yes Lia?”
He laid her out onto the bed and covered her with his body, his mouth silencing hers, his kisses full of the force of his desire, before he trailed his lips down her neck and across her chest, unwrapping her from her towel as if she were gift wrapped.
Her hands pulled the closure of his towel loose, so that when he lowered over her, they were skin to skin. She arced up – his skin hot against hers creating a fire within her that demanded slaking. She gripped his face between her hands, holding his mouth to hers so that she could devour him.
His groan shook through them both, but he held back, resisting the leg that she hooked behind his hips, trying to draw him down to her.
“Lia,” he gasped out against her cheek. “Lia…”
“Raiden,” she was going to have to find the words, she realized. “Make love to me.”
“What am I?” He caught her hands, pinning them to either side of her head and resting his forehead against hers, resisting still, although she could feel from the heat of him, the tension through his muscles, the twitch of his hips seeking to thrust, that every cell within him wanted to be within her.
She moaned. “My werewolf. My mate.”
“Yes,” his hand released hers and closed instead on her hip and she felt the pressure of him against her. “My Lia, my mate.” His eyes lost focus as he sank into her, and she bit her lip as her body gave. It did not hurt. She had always thought that it would, but her body was so ready for him that it welcomed the intrusion.
“Oh, f-k,” he groaned, his voice torn with his need.
She lifted into him, and felt him sink deeper, felt the stretch and fullness of him within her and sobbed out her breath. “Oh. Yes.” Her ankles crossed behind his hips, and pulled him into her, causing them both to cry out. “Oh, yes,” she repeated.
It was as if her body was incomplete and had been waiting this final piece to fit against her. There was no such thing as too much of him, she wanted his skin against her, his body within her, his kisses on her lips.
“Lia,” his lips grazed the point of her jaw, her head thrown back to far for his lips to meet hers. “Okay? I am not hurting you?”
“Oh, no,” her heart ached for the man who would show such concern for her in the midst of his own pleasure. “No, Raiden, it feels amazing.”
He moaned, the sound broken, and arched back against the grip of her legs, before thrusting, and she gripped his shoulders, entranced with the feel of him within her. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “It is…” Words failed her. There were enough words in the world, she thought, to describe how right it felt to share this with him.
They rocked against each other, finding rhythm, their bodies’ demands gradually influencing the strike of their flesh against each other, until hers won, and she came, her breath stolen and her body hitting rigor as the waves of pleasure rolled over her.
He stroked against her, drawing out the sensation until the pulse of him spilled into her, his movements becoming unregulated, his breath unsteady, and the strike of his flesh against hers more powerful, seeking her core and his groan filthy with his release.
He collapsed over her, and their breath was mutually a struggle, their bodies taking control of their minds, the recovery slow, until he managed to lift again and brush his lips over hers. “Mine,” he said.
“Mine,” she told him in reply. “My wolf.”
“My witch,” his lips twitched, curling into a smile.
“Yes.”
They lay tangled, lazy and replete, stroking and kissing lazily. “We should go and cook,” he pressed his lips against her shoulder. “Though it smells as if Brock has taken it in hand,” he added, lifting his face and inhaling. “He has a heavy hand with the garlic,” he complained.
“We should, probably, talk, about…” She trailed her hand up his arm to his shoulder, fascinated by the definition of muscles beneath the ink of his tattoo. She outlined the wolf with her fingertips, and then the full moon, before lifting her eyes. “What we are and what this is.”
“Yes,” his Other flashed in his eyes. “I guess this is a more than normal conversation.”
He pushed up, and rested his shoulders against the bed head, drawing her up against his chest. He stroked his fingers through her hair thoughtfully. “I have never had this conversation before,” he said after a long moment. “I am not entirely sure how to begin it.”
“I’m not too sure either,” she admitted with relief that she was not the only one speechless. “I have only ever spoken to one person about this other than my grandmother. I guess… I know that you’re a werewolf, and that your family are all werewolves.”
“You’ve known that since Friday night,” he murmured. “And you chose to keep seeing me.”
“Well,” she smoothed the hair over his forearm where the tattoo began, the lines smoking up to his elbow. “I’m not entirely sure how much choice was involved. You just are… Mine.”
He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, and his grip on her tightened. “Yes. And you are mine.”
“I don’t think I know enough about what I am,” she admitted. “I never did pay much attention to my grandmother. Cael says I am on heat, and I worry that is influencing you.”
He pressed his face into her hair and drew in a deep breath. “You are ovulating, which smells good, but ovulation isn’t an overriding factor in the mating process, that I know of. Our females do go on heat around the same time, but I don’t know about witches. I know a warlock. I guess I could ask him, but it’s a weird conversation for two guys to have… What does Cael have to do with it?” He added, puzzled.
“He is a warlock,” she told him. “I have felt very…” She flushed. “Since Friday.”
“Very?” There was an edge of teasing in his voice. “Very what, Lia?”
He shifted her so that she was between his knees and stroked his hand down her body making her moan as his fingers entered her, his breath heavy in her ear, and his hard on pressing against her back. “Very wet,” his lips were against her ear. “And warm.”
She whimpered, arcing up against his chest. “Raiden, not helping.”
“Well, I am helping in one way,” he replied, his tone deepening. He dragged his tongue up the length of her neck. “How are you feeling, exactly, Lia?” He murmured. “I think I need a detailed description.”
She sobbed in a breath, losing the ability to find words. The palm of his hand rubbed against her, and she pressed up against him wantonly. When his other hand cupped her breast, she released her breath, brokenly.
“Oh, yes, Lia,” he groaned and moved suddenly so that she was face down into the cushions.
He adjusted her legs and rocked into her, before rolling them both back, so he curled around her, much as they slept but with one very vital difference, and he pressed his lips to her in kisses grazing along her shoulder, neck and cheek as his hips pushed against her and his hand reached down between her legs.
“Lia,” he groaned. “Mine.”
“Yes,” she arched back against him, thrusting her hips into his hand. “Yes, Raiden. My wolf.”
His hips struck against her with force, and his arm wrapped around her stomach, holding her still, so that she had no choice but to receive what he had to give, and she did so, gladly, until she came apart, and felt him follow, the twitch of him within her as he spilled his seed.